


miss me in your bones

by starklystar



Series: leave the war at the doorstep [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Forgiveness, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26085592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starklystar/pseuds/starklystar
Summary: Next was the juncture between Tony’s shoulder and neck, a spot where Steve used to lavish his attention, a spot that made Tony’s toes curl in bed. He kisses it once: chaste. He kisses it twice: desperate. He kisses it –“Tell me to stop,” Steve’s breath wisps warm against Tony’s skin.“Never,” Tony promises.---------------After Endgame, Steve learns about the scars his shield left on Tony. Tony struggles with himself. They both find a way home.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: leave the war at the doorstep [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1654537
Comments: 23
Kudos: 352





	miss me in your bones

**Author's Note:**

> a request from anon on tumblr. i tried to balance the angst with tony’s own self-sacrificing nature and with tenderness because i just want them to be soft and this ended up being post endgame, but i hope you like it anon! i promise i will get to my other wips soon alsnfsd this prompt just needed to be written :)

Before everything, Tony relished these moments, wrapped in strong arms ready to catch him whenever he should stumble or fall.

He had trusted those arms before their strength had been turned against him, crashing and roaring and damning.

It isn’t easy: forgiveness and resentment warring in his bones. But after everything, those arms still felt like _home_.

Somewhere, there was an irony to it all: Tony’s childhood home haunted by the ghost of his father, his Malibu home crumbled to the ocean floor, his Tower echoing with family abandoned, his Compound corroded by bitterness. And this – this space in Steve’s arms – shadowed by regret.

Tony’s hand, replaced with a prosthetic after the Snap, winds tighter around Steve’s waist, his lips pressing harder against Steve’s yielding ones.

Maybe, maybe if he pushed harder, he could replace the taste of _what ifs_ with the taste of something less ashen, something sweeter and realer.

They had won the war. They _won_. No more aliens, no more mad titans, no more Infinity Stones. Humanity’s only enemy was now humanity itself, and wasn’t that the problem? He couldn’t rest because his own demons never stopped haunting him, and in the absence of a larger threat, they loomed at the corners of his thoughts.

Guilt mingled with grief, joy tainted by loss, love marred by hurt.

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve breathes out.

His eyes are so blue. Tony thinks he can focus on that.

This is all they’ve been doing in the past month that they’ve tried walking back towards what they once could have been.

It was impossible to go back to what they were, but after all the time spent jumping through their own histories, after saving the _universe_ together, ‘impossible’ seemed too flimsy an excuse to not try again.

“Steven,” Tony teases back, trying for a lightness he doesn’t quite feel.

“Can I – can we – ”

Steve makes an aborted gesture towards Tony, and –

It flashes suddenly behind his eyes, the memory of it, Steve’s weight on top of his armor, the shield arcing down, down, _down_ –

Tony jerks away, stumbling back.

“Tony? Are you alright?”

Steve takes a step closer. Tony takes a step back.

And then another.

Until he finds the couch and falls onto it.

 _God_ , he shouldn’t be this weak.

“Peachy,” he rasps out, pressing against the bumpy mass of scarred skin on his chest. A nervous tick he hasn’t been able to get rid of even after he’d gotten rid of the arc reactor.

“Are you sure?”

Tony knows he doesn’t need to answer the question. His bones throb with a phantom pain, years of holding up the universe taking its toll on him. He just needs a breather, that’s all.

Dimly, he registers the absence of Steve’s presence. He doesn’t know where Steve went, but in the privacy of the lakehouse that is theirs and theirs alone, he lets his shoulders slump, eyes shutting tight, willing himself to think of other things.

Siberia was long gone. There was no need to fear anything anymore. Steve would never do that again. _But he can_ , a traitorous voice whispers, _he can._

Running a frustrated hand through his hair, Tony sighs.

Rhodey was right. He needed to see a therapist if he was doing this. Steve needed to come with him. Except, he wasn’t sure if there was _any_ therapist equipped to handle the sheer amount of trauma required to become an Avenger, much less the trauma that came after being one.

Steve comes back with tea.

Tony doesn’t know how long it’s been, but he scrunches his nose at it.

“I don’t think leaf juice is going to help with anything.”

Steve shrugs, sitting down beside him, clearly making an effort to keep a distance between them.

“It’s warm,” Steve simply says.

He feels it too, Tony remembers clearly. The coldness of the cave, the snows of Siberia. The icy arctic and the barren wastefield of the bunker. _Shared life experience_ , Tony wants to laugh hysterically, because laughing had always been easier than breaking.

“You’re warm enough,” he offers back, guilty for his stumble.

He forgave Steve. He really did, had forgiven him for a long time already.

And yet, for some ridiculous reason, his mind couldn’t get on board with the program, insisting on a reminder at the most inopportune moments. He had been kissing Steve, _damn it_ , his mind could have just enjoyed that instead.

Logically, he knew that it was entirely understandable to have the memories keep coming back. But that didn’t mean that he wanted them to.

Why couldn’t life be easy for once? Why couldn’t he just be _happy_ without always being chased by his past?

“It’s Bruce’s tea,” Steve puts the mug on the table in front of them.

They both knew Tony had developed a secret, blasphemous love for that particular brand of tea. A part of Tony preens at Steve’s thoughtfulness. Another part of him dreads the questions that are about to come.

 _Bite it off faster_ , he tells himself. The sooner he explains, the sooner they can go think about more worthy things.

“You’d just… you’d hate it if you saw,” Tony waves at his own chest in lieu of explanation. That wasn’t entirely true. Back then, Steve had made sure to memorise every curve, every scar of Tony’s body, reminding him that they neither diminished nor glorified him. They were simply a part of Tony, and thus, naturally, they were something Steve loved. Proof of Tony’s heart as much as they were proof of his brilliance and courage and resilience.

There were, however, two new scars above Tony’s heart: the scars from wielding the power of the universe, and the scars from the shield. An ugly star on Tony’s chest to mirror the one on Steve’s uniform.

Steve would hate that of all the marks he’d made on Tony, it was his mark of violence that lingered.

Indignantly, _predictably_ , Steve protests. “You know I need more than scars to scare me away.”

“I know _very_ well,” he tries to deflect. But if any word could describe Steve, it would be ‘stubborn’.

“I want _you_ ,” Steve shifts closer to him, “and whatever you’re willing to give me.”

Tony scoffs. He knows Steve loves him. The knowledge warms a part of him. A larger part of him, however, remembers a time when love hadn’t stopped Steve, and the grave of broken promises hang over them.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

For a moment, Steve sits in silence. Tony simmers in his own worry.

How many times have they done this? They would kiss, have a good time, only to trip over the many landmines of their sins. How many more times? Tony is tired. He just wants to rest, just wants to be _held_.

But if he let Steve hold him, the guilt would get to Steve, and Steve would –

“I added to them, didn’t I?” Steve whispers. People often overlooked Steve’s brilliant mind, that could race alongside Tony, their thoughts syncing far before the others. Some days, Tony thinks it’s a gift. Others, he finds it’s a curse, the way he can’t hide from Steve. “The scars. When I – ” Steve bows his head, rubbing the back of his palm against his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” Tony rushes to dismiss it. _Really_ , if his mind would cooperate, he’d still be making out with Steve, finding his way back home in the curve of Steve’s lips.

Shaking his head, Steve stands up, defeated. “It’ll never stop hurting. I can’t – you deserve someone better.”

This time, Tony stops him, hand darting out to hold onto Steve’s wrist. The touch burns, but he doesn’t let go. “Where are you going?”

“You deserve better,” Steve repeats woodenly.

“Yeah?” Tony asks, hackles rising. This was something he was willing to fight for – something he had fought for before and lost. He wasn’t losing again. “Tell that to Howard. Or Obadiah. Or any other shitty person in my life.”

“That’s different.”

Tony latches on. “Because none of them ever apologised. None of them ever came back. None of them ever tried.”

After Thanos, after the Stones had been returned, they agreed on one thing: _together_. They would stay together. And Tony would be damned if he let Steve break that promise once again.

“I _hurt_ you,” Steve chokes. “How can you – how can – ” 

“How can I forgive you?” Tony finishes gently. He stands up, finding the strength to meet Steve in the eye. “The same way you forgave me for Ultron.”

“That’s different,” Steve argues again.

“Yes,” he agrees, trying a different angle, “because Ultron was me being stupid and not trusting you. This was _you_ being stupid and not trusting me.”

Steve tries to pull away. Tony continues to not let him.

“So,” Tony goes on, “why don’t you trust me when I say I want this. I just need time to get my head together.”

Five years ago, Tony would have thrown acid words at Steve, full of knowledge of where to aim to cut the deepest into Steve’s defenses. _No trust. Liar_ , he had accused Steve, and he would have called Steve a _coward, hypocrite_ for trying to flee this.

But time gives you perspective. Time gives you chances to change, to grow, to build.

Taking a step towards Steve, he finally releases Steve’s wrist to yank his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. Where his red and gold arm links to his shoulder is a mess of scars that the Cradle hadn’t been able to fix. They spread out towards the center of his chest, tangling with jagged rough lines of Yinsen’s knife and the thinner, neater ones from the doctors who had taken the reactor out.

At the middle of it all, starburst cracks from when his armor had dented in, digging into his heart as the shield slammed down. In the grand scheme of things, they were barely noticeable, but Steve spots them immediately.

He lifts a hand towards it, hovering over Tony’s skin, waiting for permission.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” Tony repeats.

“I’m sorry.”

That wasn’t what he’d been aiming for. Rolling his eyes impatiently, Tony takes another step forward until Steve’s palm presses warm against his chest. “Then do something about it,” he snaps the challenge.

Steve swallows. Slowly, he shifts his hand, fingers ghosting over each line, a map of his guilt spread wide. Tony shivers with each touch, and yet, the gentle reverence of the touch sings a reminder to him that there wasn’t anything to be afraid of.

This Steve wasn’t the Steve from years ago. This was a Steve who had learned, who would compromise when needed, who no longer hid his secrets from Tony. Less proud, more true. A Steve who rooted himself in his present family and didn’t surround himself with photographs of phantoms from a century ago.

And Tony had also changed. He was doing better by his family, and kinder to himself – a lesson he had eventually allowed his family to teach him.

“May I?” Steve asks, breaking the silence.

The question flows between them, permission granted before it was even asked. Tony nods.

He holds his breath.

This is the first time in more than half a decade that Steve has touched him like this, his skin bare and open.

Steve touches his shoulder first, brushing a kiss where metal met skin. Tony grips back, tipping his head down to kiss the crown of Steve’s hair.

Next was the juncture between Tony’s shoulder and neck, a spot where Steve used to lavish his attention, a spot that made Tony’s toes curl in bed. He kisses it once: chaste. He kisses it twice: desperate. He kisses it –

“Tell me to stop,” Steve’s breath wisps warm against Tony’s skin.

“Never,” Tony promises.

It’s another forgiveness as much as it’s another victory. One more declaration that they won. No matter how the universe tried to tear them apart, they were still _here_.

“I missed you,” Steve confesses, tucking his head under Tony’s chin, holding Tony tighter. Always, it was a balance between Steve’s desperation and keeping his strength from bruising Tony. A dance that sometimes didn’t work out, but they were finding their rhythm again, the beats of their heart that they needed to swing, to pay attention to so they didn’t step on each other.

And the beats that they could chase to find the brimming joy waiting beyond all their scars and regrets.

“You have me now.”

“I love you.”

His breath hitches. Steve kisses his collarbone, lips soft above rough skin, coaxing a smile on Tony’s own lips. “I’d love you more if you took off your shirt,” Tony grasps the brightness of hope between them. “And I’d love you forever if we took this too bed.”

It works. He feels Steve smile between the kisses, and Steve’s touch turns lighter, more joyous, less weighed down by guilt. There remained a hesitance, but Tony would work with that.

As long as Steve wasn’t trying to run anymore, it was enough.

The bedroom isn’t far. When Tony had built the lakehouse, he had kept it small, no longer needing grandness and large spaces as a layer of armor. These were the little things that mattered. This was the truest home he had ever lived in.

They pause at the bedroom door, one last hurdle to pass.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers again, earnest hand splayed across Tony’s chest. A bandage, a balm, a tremble. “I can’t just forget, Tony. I can’t move on as if I didn’t do _this_ to you.”

“We’ll figure it out together,” Tony places his hand over Steve’s, feeling the tremble there lessen. “I’m not saying we forget. _I_ certainly can’t.” He lets slip a small smile. He was the futurist, and the future had never felt more bright, more limitless. “I guess I’m just hoping we make some new memories?”

“New memories,” Steve repeats, doubtful.

Was it always this tiring being the more emotionally put together person in the room? Pepper and Rhodey deserved another fruitbasket.

Priorities, though.

Tony _will_ concede that his words sounded flimsy, now that he’s heard them parroted back to him. But however flimsy their words were, he had been loved long enough by Steve to know that their hearts weren’t.

“New memories,” Tony says one more time, tugging at Steve’s hand to pull him closer.

He lets all his joy and hope and contentment swell in him, he lets himself think of summer nights on the Tower’s balcony, the warm air and the city spread below him as Steve laughed beside him. Of date nights and long missions, Steve’s shield brought high above his head to keep them from the rain. Winter mornings wrapped up tight with warm coffee and warmer hugs.

All those memories brim in him and Tony _smiles_.

Then, taking Steve’s other hand, he brings it up to his own temple, the edges of his eyes that crinkle with his smile. The crow’s feet there rippling with an easy lightness.

Marks of a happy man. Of a life well-lived.

“These are yours too,” Tony reminds Steve. He had been marked by violence as much as by gentleness. “Proof of how well you loved me.”

“And look how well it ended the first time around.”

“You made me happy. You still do.”

“You’re not scared of me?” Steve asks. His voice rasps with misery.

Tony looks deeper into those blue eyes, past the shaky guilt and the stormy grief, beyond the rocky regrets and the warring doubts. If he looked close enough into the straightness of Steve’s back – strong and steady even in adversity – and into the way his free hand carefully touched Tony’s bare hip – respectful, shy, reverent and sweet all at once – Tony would find again the same man he had fallen for all those years ago.

Time gave you perspective. It also revealed your truest self. And here, despite all the storms they’ve weathered, there was still a string between that man and the changed man standing in front of Tony.

A string undistorted by the horrors that remained between them, an invisible string tying the two of them together, for better or for worse.

There was a lot more they needed to go through: nights when Tony would wake up blindly pushing Steve away, mornings when it would be too hard for Steve to see the evidence of his regrets. And days when Steve would spend hours tracing every scar he left, with his soft touch and featherlight kisses, apologies murmured and promises spilling over his skin. There would be other days when Tony would have to grasp at Steve with his metal arm, its strength even greater than Steve’s, to hold him home and stop him from drifting astray to misgivings of the past.

But that could all wait.

Now, with Steve’s hand over his heart and his hand over Steve’s, Tony leans up to kiss away the one tear that had slipped down Steve’s cheek.

There was no need for anymore salt over their wounds.

When he pulls back, he says nothing.

They never needed words for this part. The question lingers unspoken, waiting for a truth it already knows.

_Do you trust me?_

The answer comes as a kiss.

 _I do_.

Tony kisses back.

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](https://starklysteve.tumblr.com) :)


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